Delayed Confessions
by Snapepoto
Summary: With countless obstacles in the way, Erik finds it hard to admit that he loves Christine. Please R&R.
1. What the Heart Truly Wants

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters.

Chapter One

"Christine!" The blonde girl stood on her tiptoes with her hands covering her mouth in an attempt to usher the excitement back inside her.

"It's true, it happened only moments ago, Meg. He told me he loved me on the roof. It was so romantic, he confessed right next to the angel, comforting me in his arms. Oh Meg, my heart races, feel," she jumped over to her friend, placing the younger girl's hand on her heart. Meg smiled up at her.

"Oh Christine, you lucky, lucky girl. I couldn't be happier for you."

"Thank you. Oh, please forgive me for rushing you out, but Raoul told me to get ready, he's treating me to dinner. Excuse me, I need to get ready." 

"Need you say no more, I'm off. Enjoy yourself, and behave mon amie," she winked, and scurried out the door. Christine watched her leave, sighing. So much had happened that night, and although she should have still been shaken by the death of the stagehand, she couldn't help but smile. Raoul had made her leave all thoughts behind with his declaration of love. She sighed, turning to the mirror examining her hair. She stood puzzled brushing her hair, wondering why her Angel would ever do such a wicked thing. She'd trusted him, surrendered her mind for the sake of music, and he ran off to do something unspeakable. But the more she thought, the more she came to terms that she could never hate the Phantom. Deep inside her aching soul, she cared strongly for the broken man, and knew that she always had. In her time of loneliness and need, he scooped her up, and nurtured her shattered heart, feeding her sweet, sad tunes of breathtaking music. She sighed. 'Though I care for my angel, and possibly feel something more, he only cares for my well being and music.' she thought.

"You've betrayed me you foolish child," a deep, rich voice whispered gently. She froze, her breath stopping momentarily. Any other girl would think that a ghost was talking but she knew better. The Phantom was once again inside her mirror, watching her every move. She shuddered.

"Angel I-"

"Don't you dare call me that anymore. I am you angel no longer Christine. You've made your decision on who you'd prefer to guard you moments ago." She gulped. He couldn't have possible been there. Could he?

"I don't know what you speak of."

"Don't act daft with me child. I heard the two of you melting all over one another on the roof. You seem to forget that I am the Phantom, and I can be wherever I want to be in an instant. You also seem to have forgotten that if it weren't for me, that wretched boy wouldn't even know you exist." he spat. Thought still frightened, she managed to sputter out a word or two.

"You don't know what you're saying. He loves me, and what you say is not true."

"Oh really? I have eyes all over, and I see the way he gawks at some of the sad attempts of women in this opera house. He didn't see you until I handed that role to you from Hannibal. He doesn't love you, and if he does it will be because I made it happen." 

"Then I thank you monsieur. He is the best thing that's ever happened to me." she said, her own words stabbing at her, though her anger towards the man was still there, and she would not let him win.

"That pathetic excuse of a man is the best that's ever happened to you?" he growled. "I gave you a voice, my music, I gave you a name you insolent child." Christine's anger had risen, unable to stand the insults being thrown at her other love, or what her mind and sweet words had made him to be. 

"I am not a child monsieur, and yes, he is."

"You are a child. You don't know what you want, and he is certainly not what you need." 

"And what is it that I need, sir?" 

"A man, Christine, a man!" She could hear his ragged breathing. 

"You need a man that can give you everything." He pause for a long moment. Holding back small tears, she continued brushing her hair, trying to look strong while glaring into the mirror. 

"I gave you everything Christine, everything I am and own. I gave it all to you and you tossed it aside like debris . You took a sword and pierced my heart without so much as a thought. And when you kissed that boy…"he trailed off. Christine slowly lowered the brush, staring rather guiltily at her reflection. She was shocked at the emotional change he had just underwent. Through the silence, she could hear a small, stifled sniffle. Her eyes widened, the meaning of his words sinking into her. 

Everything he had, he gave to her, mind, body, and soul. She recalled the innumerable portraits of her in his home, the tasks done to make her a star…the mannequin of her in a wedding gown. And as she gazed into the mirror, she realized that this man, this angel was her reflection. Everything she knew and loved about life was also in him, and she owed him everything. She looked down, ashamed, and realized the truth without asking. He loved her, and she merely shot him down, despite the mix of strong feelings she felt for him also. A long moment of silence passed, and without thinking, words began dripping out of her trembling lips.

"So then you are a man sir?"

"Much more than that boy." he rasped.

"Well if you're so sure of yourself, why have you never stepped up to be that man?" Immediately after she spoke, the mirror opened, and the Phantom stood there, eyes ablaze. 

"Surely you wouldn't willingly subject yourself to such a grotesque torture, now would you mademoiselle?" Cruelty masked the broken man inside of him, the only way he could live. His anger towards her was still great, and there was no way he would admit then and there his love for her.

"Possibly, if given the chance." she said, tonelessly. He glided over to her, grabbing her wrists, and slamming her up against one of the walls. She winced, but allowed him to proceed and release the pent up agony she'd caused him.

"You don't know what you're saying or stepping into girl. Speak wisely or I might get the wrong impression." His face was inches from hers, and it frightened her. Her face softened, and he eased his grip a bit.

"I care for you, I do. But I need you to admit that you care for me also." His eyes widened at her words, and he released his hold on her. 

"What?" he whispered. She raised her hand to stroke his face. His eyes closed, and he leaned into her touch, his body betraying the string of fury driven string of emotions running through him.

"Admit that you love me as I know you do, and I will leave with you." Christine herself was shocked at her choice of words. They were true, but she didn't know that they would be so strong to her and her Phantom. But it was as if the words were coming from somewhere deep inside of her, and she could not help herself from saying them. 

"Christine, I-I don't know what to tell you."

"Tell me what you truly feel."

"But you couldn't run off with me, the people, people you know will worry-" 

"I don't care, for as long as I am with you, the others mean nothing." Finally admitting what she should've long ago, she felt invisible chains being cut, allowing her to say what she truly felt. 

"But the boy-"

"Exactly, he is a boy, and you're right Monsieur Phantom, I need a man as you have advised. And I should always follow my Phantom's instructions, should I not?" She took a step forward, stretching her hand out to touch his face, but he slowly backed away from her. She could see, as he walked into the light, that he was actually scared. He'd done everything possible to get to where he was, to claim her as his, but when finally confronted with the opportunity, he found it too great, and was in too much of a shock to go through with it.

"Angel," he didn't object to the name. "This is real, I am real, and I'm telling you that I will willingly run away with you, so long as you confess to what you feel." 

Coming back to earth, he blinked several times, shaking his head and putting himself back in order. He stood up straight, and took a breath, staring at her.

"I cannot deny anything you ask me to tell you, or anything you want. But to admit this would do neither of us any good. Even if I was able to vanish with you Christine, there will always be interruptions, and too many things are in the way at the moment." he said, boldly stepping closer to her. 

"Just admit to me Angel, and I'm yours."

"I want that more than life itself Christine."

"Then tell me." He was now right in front of her, his face once again inches from hers. He searched her face for any traces of deception, finding none. Then, slowly he lowered his head, taking in her entranced features. She gently shut her eyes, her body quivering with anticipation. Then as if by cue, a knock sounded at the door.

"Lotte, are you ready? My carriage awaits us as does a scrumptious dinner." the Vicomte said, cheerily.

The Phantom's face twisted into a sneer of pure disgust, as he looked at Christine, then to the door, then to her again. Fixing his ebony cloak, he straightened himself, then stalked over to the mirror, upset, his previous anger from the previous situation returning.

"You see child, I told you there were too many interruptions preventing us from a life," he spat out, softly. Christine looked down, tears slowly streaming down her face.

"Forgive me," she whispered. He deafened himself to her piteous words, and was halfway out the room, when he turned, grimacing. He tossed something cold and disheveled on the rug.

"By the way, you forgot this," he said, his voice gently, yet lined with venom. He shut the mirror, and was gone. She walked over to the long object. The rose she'd mindlessly dropped on the roof earlier lay dead and unloved on the floor. She fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands, unable to forgive herself for what she had done to him.

A/N: I rated it M for later chapters, though I don't really know where I'm going with this thing. Hope you like it!


	2. Unwanted Kiss

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters.

Chapter Two

"Oh Angel, what have I done to you? Can you ever find it in your lonely heart to forgive me?" she stood up, trying hopelessly to fluff up the remnants of the battered blood red petals. "No, his heart is not lonely, because he has me to fill that deep void that time and the cruelty of others have dug, if he'll allow me to. Though I'm really not worthy of such a deed." A soft knock sounded at her door.

"Lotte? Are you living in there?" the Vicomte said, sounding worried. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm a child no longer, Monsieur, there's no need to call me Lotte," she murmured. Examining herself once more, she strode to the door and entered the small hall. Back in her flower filled room, a soft whisper echoed off the walls.

"You are worth the earth and the stars, Christine, more than you'll ever care to imagine."

"You took ages in there Lotte. What on earth were you doing? Talking to yourself again?" Raoul smiled, leaning in to kiss her, but she moved aside, lightly pushing him back. 

"Are you feeling well, Lotte?" asked, visibly disappointed, despite his efforts to hide it.

"I'm sorry Raoul, I-I'm just still a little shaken from earlier, please understand." She kept her head down, her eyes still red and puffy. He sighed, smiling warmly.

"Of course Lotte, anything you say," he took her arm in his and pulled her along to his carriage. When he wasn't looking, she turned back, looking for something. She could have sworn she felt _His_ eyes boring a hole into the back of her head. Then again, he _was_ everywhere, which was precisely the reason she hadn't kissed Raoul: because she refused to let him see her heartrending tears, not wanting him to fuss the night away, and mainly because she just couldn't bring herself to kiss him when she felt she belonged to someone else. She felt as if she was betraying her Angel with every movement and action she made with the Vicomte. His anger towards her would surely increase due to her little outing with the childhood sweet. She began to worry that it would rise to the point where he would no longer want her anymore.

'No,' she thought, 'he loves me, and definitely wouldn't stop because of a man like the Vicomte.'

Dinner went well, until Raoul began his cooing once more. He took her hand from across the round table, placing a small kiss on it. She blushed and turned away, desperate for any distraction. Finding nothing capable of distracting either one of them, she inwardly cursed.

"Christine, I love you. There is no doubt in mind, and there never has been, I am so sure of myself, and it simply delights me in knowing you feel what I feel." She choked on a sob. Every little word came out of him as if he'd planned on what he was going to say. It was as if he was torturing her with his honey laced words, forcing her to feel guilty that she didn't care for him that way. She didn't love him, yet he was still her dear friend, and she didn't have the heart to wound another the way she'd wounded her Angel.

"Christine, are you all right? Why are you crying?" he leaned in closer, squeezing her hand. She waved him off, shaking her head. Thinking fast, she found a way to change the course of the situation.

"Don't worry yourself Raoul. I'm just so touched by your feelings for me, and how happy we are to be in the future," she said, dabbing her eyes. His features softened, and he smiled.

"Oh Lotte, always the caring girl. That's why I love you." He leaned over, kissing her tenderly on her lips. She faked a smile, trying not to cry on having felt that she'd once again betrayed the Phantom by kissing Raoul, and started a meaningless conversation about his business. As he chattered endlessly, she was finally able to think about everything she'd faced so far. It was a mistake continuing to kindle the dying embers of what Raoul wanted and thought they had. It merely gave him hope for no reason. But she wouldn't quit the charade until her Angel confessed to what she'd been longing to hear. 

How splendid it would be if she and her Angel could run off into the sunset, and never look back. The sights they would see, the things they would do. She smiled, closing her eyes. She remembered how it felt in his firm arms in the dim cavern of his home, how he held her and touched her, sparking feelings she'd never felt before. She blushed, trying to relive and imagine his touch again, caressing her curves and every inch of her upper body. She opened her eyes, still hypnotized by the lasting impressions of her Angel, only to find Raoul staring intently at her, a look of worry plastered on his face.

"Tired love?"

"Oh yes, very tired. I wish to return back to my bed, if you don't mind," she said through a faked yawn.

They walked arm in arm back to the carriage, and she wanted nothing more than to tear free from him, find her want, and throw herself the arms of her desired. Once inside the lavish compartment, he began kissing her gently, sticking his vile tongue into her tentative mouth. She could do nothing but allow him to continue, for she didn't want him fussing again.

'What's become of me? I let these two men do what they want, I feel like some sort of harlot,' she thought. Having had enough of his wet kisses, she pushed him back, breathing hard.

"Goodness," she said, shocked at his uncontrolled behavior. Mistaking her expression for something along the lines of amazed, he smiled at her, stroking her cheek.

"Enjoyed it that much, did you?" he said, smirking innocently. She turned away briefly, disgusted with herself and the slobbering Vicomte. Though knowing better, she turned to face him, smiling.

"Immensely," she lied. In truth, she wanted to heave.

Minutes later, the carriage arrived and a thankful Christine came stumbling out, grateful to escape the much too eager boy. He held out his hand to her.

"Allow me to escort you to your room, love." Though she detested the thought of it, she allowed him to. However, in a small way, she thanked it for she was already nauseated by his dripping kisses, and needed some support to walk. She made to dart into her room once there, but he caught her hand, and pulled her into a ghastly kiss. She smiled, and then slipped into her room. Running and half staggering to the small wash room towards the back, she threw up all over the marble floor. She was fully disgusted with her actions and sickened by what her Angel must have thought of her. 'He must think I'm some sort of whore by the way I let Raoul kiss me,' she thought, tears forming in her mahogany eyes.

"You would think you took pleasure from that boy's lips. It looked to me as if you did earlier, so I don't know why you gag if you love him so, and look forward to his touch. If you'd allowed him to continue, I'm sure you would have willingly opened those legs also-" 

"Angel, please," she whispered feebly. "Not now, and I didn't mean to-" she spit up more unidentifiable liquid. His juices still settled on her palate, and the thought alone made her sick. 

"Angel, help me, please, I don't feel so well." 

She needn't say more; in moments, he was by her side helping her up, though he was still upset. He lifted her up, carrying her to her bed.

"I didn't mean to kiss him, he placed his lips on mine, I didn't want it Angel, I swear," she pleaded. He looked away, trying to keep strong. Her words alone were enough to bring the towering man to his knees.

"Erik." he whispered in his deep, husky voice.

"What?" she asked confused.

"My name is Erik; you shall refer to me as Erik." She allowed herself to grin, caressing his cheek weakly with her hand. 'He loves me so to reveal his name. How honored I should feel.' she thought. Kneeling down, he placed her delicately on her bed. She took his form in, seeing him in casual clothing for the first time. He wore a simple white shirt, with black pants, fitting close to his lean body. He rose leisurely, gliding to the wash room to clean up the filth she'd released. He was back within minutes and kneeling by her once more, tugging at her stockings.

"What are you doing, Erik?" she asked in a daze, a tad bit frightened.

"You're not planning to sleep in these garments are you girl? Relax, I'll be out of your way in a bit." Removing only small articles of her intricate clothing, he finished quickly, then left the room quietly. He returned in moments, Madame Giry in his wake.

"See to it that she sleeps in proper night attire, Madame. I'm off to my own rest. See you soon." He focused on Christine, nodded, then disappeared into the glass.

"Erik I-"

"Hush child, there is no changing his mind when he's like this. Now what ails you girl?"

"Bad food from the restaurant Raoul took me to, I suppose." She shrugged, her focus still on the mirror. She knew he was still there. Madame Giry was wrong. She and she alone could prevent Erik from leaving, and she knew the power she held over him now. He loved her too much, and wouldn't leave until he was sure she was comfortable and at ease. Wanting nothing more than to please him, she continued talking to her foster mother.

"And, well…when Raoul kissed me, I felt disgusted. He slopped on me like I was some sort of wash basin, I didn't like it, Madame. His kisses are of a small, over eager boy, and it sickens me." The older woman nodded, hoping she was speaking of her own accord and that Erik hadn't hypnotized her into saying these things, and helping her up to relieve her of her corset. Christine blushed immediately as the dreadful contraption fell off, exposing her pale flesh. She loved the masked man, but was still innocent when it came to the desires of men. She covered herself with her arms, grateful when Madame Giry gave her the filmy white nightgown. She momentarily left, and returned with a damp towel, cleaning her face, and presented a glass of water mixed with a strong smelling liquid. Christine gargled, then spit back into the cup.

"That will clean your mouth. Rest now Christine. A fresh soprano like you should not be up so late wandering around with men, no matter what the social status." She glanced at the mirror pointedly, as if trying to get a message across. "I will come to you in the morning to see that you're better. Good night, my sweet."

"Good night, Madame." As soon as the door was shut, Christine fell into a deep slumber, and Erik crept in. 

"Let you heal, my angel, I cannot bear to see you suffer like this," he whispered. Most nights, he sat by her bed, whispering small, sweet words into her ear, taking in the small movements she made during the seemingly endless night. 

"I love you Christine. I wish for you to be my wife, keeping you forever, if you'll allow me to have you this way." He ran his fingertips lightly through her thick chestnut curls, angered more at himself at the moment than at her. Why could he bring himself to admit his love for her when she lay sleeping, her soul in another world, but not directly to her living form? 

"You're a coward you foul beast," he hissed to himself. Admitting the truth to himself and any other living creature capable of capturing sound in the room, he continued contemplating his flaw. The high and mighty Phantom, now dubbed murderer, was frightened by this stunning girl, who couldn't even bring herself to harm a small insect. He loathed himself for his weakness of the goddess breathing deeply before him. He could talk all he wanted about how he'd capture her, and keep her with him for eternity, but when faced with the actual reality of his desires, he found it too wonderful to be true and backed down like an injured animal. He sighed, staring in awe at the latent figure before him, unaware of her Angel's intense adoring eyes. Eyes that saw not only her beauty and passion for the arts, but the radiant soul dying to escape from the restricted body of a girl whose actions were controlled by those around her.

Toying with her soft hair, he slowly leaned in, soaking up the scent of the rose water embedded in her curls, immersing himself into an ocean of her unique smell. Mindlessly, and hesitantly, he leaned in closer to her face, stopping just a short distance from the lips the Vicomte had sullied. Did he dare take advantage of a vulnerable teenager while she lay entranced with untouchable dreams? He pulled back. No, he wouldn't dare to stoop that low. He would leave that to the Vicomte. 

"Insolent boy," he spat. "dribbling on her like some sort of rag, as if she really enjoyed the feel of his slobber trickling down her throat. Or did she," he asked, now looking at the singer as some sort of repugnant harlot. Did she really enjoy it, or had she been telling the truth of her hatred towards his vulgar kiss? He allowed himself to hope that she hadn't been lying and displayed an unseen smug grin. Continuing down the line of events that had just occurred in the room, he recounted the undressing of his beloved. He was a gentleman, and had simply watched to ensure that Madame Giry undressed the girl with care. The moment her small breasts were exposed to the observant eye, though, he found himself far from a gentleman, but quickly composed himself.

"You wretched, taunting girl. How many more nights will I think of you, until I can have you at last, and plow the untouched earth of your virgin fields?" he stood up, ashamed of his beastly thoughts. Though he had to admit, he was a man, and no man went through life without a flickering thought of a gorgeous woman lying exposed to his wanting eye. How many more nights, honestly, would he cry out her name in both agony and pleasure, imaging a soft touch instead of his own rough one, in a lonely attempt at self relief.

"Not for long, I hope. Though I'll wait for an eternity if you wish, Christine. Only for you, and no one else. You have my heart in your palm. You are the puppeteer, and I'm on fragile string, dancing before you." He placed her flopping hand on his heaving chest, small tears forming in his eyes.

"Don't mar the withering organ within me anymore, cherish this, please," he whispered. With that being said, he leaned over and laid a delicate kiss on her forehead. A second later, he vanished from the room. Christine stirred.

"Erik?" Christine whispered, languidly, looking hopefully around the room. She sighed, disappointed. "Must have been another dream," she whispered sadly, and fell back onto the pillow, instantly falling asleep.

A/N: I really hope you guys are enjoying this story. I have to be honest though, I really don't know where I'm going with this, so bear with me. I'm just writing for my enjoyment, and most of these chapters will be written on impulse, which is why they come out so…nice, I guess you could say. Well continue R&R, and I love you!


	3. Lips of an Angel

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters.

Chapter Three:

The dazzling sun expanded across the small lavish room of young Christine, settling on her face. She cringed, the intense rays warming her face. She sat up lazily, smacking her puffy lips and looking about her room. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she jumped out of her soft bed, stretching her limber body. She felt exuberant compared to the night before.

"Oh I feel as if today will be a good day," she moaned, arching her back. "Nothing to do, oh I could relax all day."

"Christine! Are you up yet? We need to get going, our dresses aren't going to fit themselves!" came the muffled shouts of Meg on the other side of her door.

"What? What dresses? Meg I think you're tired, go back and rest, you're losing your pretty little head," she yawned.

"Oh Christine have you forgotten already? Our dresses for the Masquerade! It's six months away, and you know how long it takes Madame Frome to piece the material together!" Instantly, Christine's eyes widened, and she shrieked, scurrying about her room trying to find something suitable to wear for her outing.

"Meg I'll have to meet you there, I'm not yet ready! I'm so sorry!"

"Oh Christine, calm down. I'll see you there in a moment, I hope." she said, her voice fading as she left.

"Oh Christine, what to wear, what to wear! Foolish girl, not having remembered, how stupid I am!"

"You are not stupid, Christine. You merely need guidance." Erik walked carefully over to her frantic form, smiling at her panic. She jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Oh God, Erik you frightened me!" she said, partially out of breath. She placed her hand on her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. Once her breathing settled, she glanced at her masked angel. He was smiling. The expression looked alien to his usually somber face. Hoping it was much more than just a facial expression of the moment, she smiled back.

"I take it you are not mad at me anymore, Erik?" she took a step towards him. Hopefully, a night's rest was enough to calm his nerves, and renew his feelings for her. He sighed, removing a glove.

"I'm still rather upset with you, but I thought about it in my sleep, and figured I wouldn't want to go through the remaining years of my pathetic life filled with more anger than usual." He paused, staring into her eyes, making her blush. Breaking eye contact, she spoke softly.

"How can you think in your sleep, I can barely think clearly when I am awake," she stated.

He strode to her, closing the gap between them, and gently took her hand.

"You should know the answer Christine. I am an Angel, I can do anything. Now come, you need to eat something. Obviously not even a rich man like the Vicomte can satisfy your hunger. Come along," he said, gently tugging her arm.

"But I need to attend my fitting Angel-"

"Erik."

"I mean Erik, I still need to go to my fitting, and I don't even have an outfit to wear to go out." He pulled the glass aside, allowing her to go in before him.

"Don't fret. Goodness look at you, you're a wreck at the moment. Simply calm down, it has been taken care of." She turned to him, puzzled. He pretended not to notice.

"Pardon me?" They turned at a corner, descending further into the composer's lair. He ignored her, and they walked the remainder of the way in comfortable silence. Several minutes later, he helped her up from the swaying boat. She stood, taking in everything her eyes could reach. Memories of her previous visit flooded her cramped mind, and she grinned.

"You are not going to sing for me this time, Monsieur Phantom?" she teased. He chuckled.

"Silly girl, if you want an encore, you can have it. You can have it for the rest of your life if you desire." He glanced at her, his face serious, yet a glimmer of hope quickly flashed through his eyes. She felt nervous, knowing he was probably expecting her to pack her belongings right then and there, and turned away, observing her surroundings once again. She looked back at him to ask him a question, but he'd disappeared. Biting her lip, she walked up the rocky stairs. As she continued her short journey, she saw something that made her stomach churn. Erik's words were sharp, rusted daggers to her heart in his efforts to make her feel guilty, but as if words just weren't enough, he'd provided a visual to make her want to die on the spot.

Weeks ago, when he'd whisked her away for the first time to his underground domain, she'd spotted a miniature stage of the Opera House's very own. He'd taken his time to carve intricate little figurines representing herself, Carlotta, Piangi, himself, and an extra ballet rat here and there. That wasn't what was agitating her though: he'd recently carved a new little man, and a new scenery set. Perched on top of a golden angel sat a little man, cloaked completely in Ebony robes, with a striking, infamous white half mask. He was facing a man, newly carved, with wavy, honey colored hair, and a small woman with thick curls, both apparently immersed in each other as they exchanged a kiss. Fresh tears stung her eyes, and the angry, bitter feelings she'd felt the day before returned with a powerful force.

Erik returned with a tray laden with fresh fruits, plump, juicy ham, and an array of freshly brewed teas. He walked briskly, confident that he wouldn't drop anything, and placed the handsome display on a table near the entrance he'd just come from.

"I hope you're hungry Christine, for I slaved away early in the morning to provide you with a bountiful breakfast, and considering you didn't eat well last night, well, yes, here it is." He looked up after having set the table, and was shocked to see her lips trembling, and her body slightly shaking. His eyes roamed over to the small people next to her. He cursed himself under his breath. But not wanting to mistake her tears for the wrong reason, he asked.

"What is it? What's wrong? You're not hungry?" he asked striding over to her sad form. She held her hand up.

"Don't come any closer Erik, please." She choked on her words, hardly able to breathe.

"What is it girl?"

"How can you continue to be so kind to me, when all I've done is cause you so much sorrow and pain? You should just leave me and let me face the world on my own, because I don't deserve anyone as good as you. You deserve the world Erik, the world should be kissing your feet, and I should be the girl outcast for being such a fool." she whispered. He walked closer to her, ignoring her pleas to stay away.

"How can you say that? You are the very foundation of my life, if not for you, I'd have ended my life already. You are the missing note in my music; you have completed unfinished operas and countless scores of once sorrowful music." He unexpectedly took her in his arms, holding on tight as she tried to break free. Finding it useless to struggle in his strong embrace, she gave up, breathing hard. Once she'd settled down and was able digest his sound, his words finally took meaning to her.

"Are you saying you love me then? You still have not admitted that you love me, Erik. I'm waiting, and I don't think it's fair considering I've admitted it." He let her go, walking away. She almost whimpered as the warmth of his clasp left her.

"No you haven't. I don't recall you saying I love you at all-"

"I love you, Erik." She said boldly. He froze in his track, his heart racing. Had all his years of waiting and hoping and praying to an unseen God finally paid off? Would he finally be able to see the light of day that only she could provide? His eyes closed, and a ghost of a smile passed through his face.

"Well? Do you have anything to tell me, sir?" she asked expectantly. His eyes snapped open, and he frowned. He could kill a man, threaten to get what he wanted, but he simply couldn't bring it upon himself to say three little words.

"In time, Christine. Come and eat something. He turned around, and saw the disappointment in her eyes.

"I fear I'm not very hungry anymore."

"Christine, please, I put forth much effort into this meal to satisfy the hunger I know you have." She didn't budge. He sighed, knowing what he had to say, but hated to.

"If you wish to make me happy, you could at least do this one thing for me and dine with me." She looked down, and slowly made her way to the table.

"Thank you, Christine." She nodded, and looked up, figuring she'd might as well enjoy the meal he'd assembled for her. Eyeing the fresh strawberries, cherries, grapes, and small kiwis, an idea made it's way into her desperate mind. She abruptly stood up, flying down the stairs to retrieve something, then returned.

"What are you doing?" Erik asked, worried as she came to stand behind him.

"Trust me Monsieur." Erik began to panic as the world before him turned black. She'd tied a blindfold over his eyes, shaking with happiness as she continued her impromptu plan.

"I simply want to play a game, Erik. I will give you something to eat, and you must tell me what it is."

"And if I get it wrong?" he drawled.

"You shan't be penalized for getting it wrong, no matter how many times you punished me for faltering on a note," she said, smirking. She leaned over pulling her chair and the fruits towards them, and sitting before him. She plucked a cherry from it's bowl, and placed it delicately on his lips. Desperately wanting this silly little game to end, Erik tried to bite it, but was let down as she pulled it back, tantalizing him. Tracing his lips with the small red fruit, she daringly placed her other hand in his, biting her lip in anticipation of his reaction. But, he simply sat there apparently oblivious to her hand, trying to eat the fruit. At last, after having tortured him enough, she allowed him to bite it.

"That is, my dear, a cherry. And do not tell me I'm wrong, because I know I'm right." She giggled.

"Yes sir, you are right." Next, she picked up a grape, and stuck it in his mouth, half of her finger along with it. He closed his mouth, and she stared in awe as his soft lips touched her pale skin as she pulled her finger out.

"Grape, with human flesh. Now I know you lot think of me as a monster, but there is no need to assume that I am also a cannibal." She laughed, snatching a strawberry. She teased him for a short moment, then allowed him to eat it, adoring the way his jaw moved.

"A strawberry, Mademoiselle."

"Yes," she breathed. What Christine did next shocked them both. Watching him innocently eat the small fruits had focused all her attention on his surprisingly pink lips. She'd never noticed how soft they looked. Completely submerged in her observation, she was unaware that she'd leaned in a little too close to his face, and was shocked as she discovered that her lips were almost touching his own. She made a bold decision then. Gathering all her will power and sucking in a large amount of air, she courageously leaned forward those last few inches, placing her lips on his. She felt his entire body stiffen, and for a minute she feared he would push her off. But surprisingly, he just sat there. She pulled back frightened, and he slowly, with a shaking hand, pulled off the barrier of his vision. His eyes were on fire, glowing with some unknown emotion that Christine had never seen before. Her stomach twisted into a squirming knot.

"I'm sorry, Erik. I know you must think me foolish now-" he pulled her back, kissing her again, this time allowing her to kiss him properly. A dam inside Christine broke, and a wave of relief settled over her body. Butterflies flew all along her tummy, and she loved every second of this man claiming her mouth.

Erik, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck despite the confident picture he was painting for Christine. He'd never, in his entire life of roaming the opera house, or the streets of Paris, kissed a woman. Christine on the other hand had (although he hated reminding himself of it), and considering she hadn't pushed him away, he thought he might be doing a fairly good job.

He couldn't believe this was actually happening. She was years younger and she knew what she was doing, while he just mimicked everything she did. She pulled away momentarily, nibbling his lower lip.

"Oh, Erik," she sighed. Two small words were all it took for him to melt in his chair. A smug little thought ran through his mind. 'She never once spoke in that tone to the impudent Vicomte.' She crushed her lips to his once more, possessing him, drugging his senses. But no matter how much he was enjoying himself, he detested the fact that she was doing all the work. Realizing for the first time that her hand was in his, he resolved to turn the situation around. Using all his might, he pulled her out of her chair, and sat her delicately on his lap. She broke the kiss, gasping, eyes wide as he gazed at her grinning. She continued to merely sit there, doing absolutely nothing but staring at his face. Growling in his frustration for more, he roughly pulled her back, forcefully taking advantage of her mouth. He'd waited far too long to stall any longer

He wrapped his arms around her, and she followed suit, beaming with uncontainable jubilance. There was not a single thought in her mind, and she was finally able to forget all her troubles and the dreadful Vicomte. Erik, though, was always thinking. And the more he let himself think, the less he would enjoy any activity.

This, it seemed, was too good to be true. He sat thinking, as the little temptress explored his mouth with her small tongue. He'd taught himself through his harsh life, never to get his lingering hopes up, for everything he'd ever had had been ripped away from him, leaving him there to bleed. His eyes snapped open, and a sense of remorse overtook him. All of it seemed too much for him at the moment, and he abruptly pushed her off, setting her away from him.

"We can't do this," he breathed.

"What?" she asked in a haze. He left her, flying into the other room, and returning with a package.

"You must leave. I cannot deal with this right now, Christine. You must leave, now. Open the package, and then proceed with your fitting."

"But I thought-"

"Well whatever it was you were thinking was wrong. You must go now. Now!" she ran after him as he sprinted to the small boat.

Moments later, they were back in her small room, Erik in a rush, and Christine terribly confused. He hesitantly placed a swift kiss on her cheek, and made for the exit.

"Erik, wait. Will I…will I be seeing you soon?" she asked, though she feared she already knew the answer. He ran his hand through his hair, exhaling.

"I don't know, Christine. I have something extremely important that must be taken care of, and it will most likely take all of my attention away from everything else. I will see you in time, though. I bid you a well remainder of this year, and please, stay out of mischief. I-I…Farewell for now." The words he still couldn't say stayed lodged in his throat as she shut the mirror, and fled down.

"Until the end of this year," she whispered, tears streaming down her pink cheeks. The weight of the words he'd thrown at her brought her down to her knees, and she sobbed uncontrollably for what seemed like hours. Wiping away the salty droplets, she began unwrapping the package she held. Inside, was the most beautiful dress Christine had ever laid eyes on. A beautiful, sky-blue dress, laced with white, and stitched with intricate sea-green patterns. She looked around the room, knowing he was everywhere, and smiled, a sad yet thankful smile.

"Thank you Erik."

Managing to find someone to help her into the gorgeous, and dodge pesky ballet rats' comments about who'd she'd given into to acquire the stunning outfit, she entered Madame Frome's place at around noon.

"Christine, that dress!" Meg exclaimed, rushing over to her friend. She sighed in awe as Christine twirled about for her, causing quite a commotion from the other women in the small store.

"Oh what a lovely dress!"

"You simply _must_ tell me where, or who got it for you dear, I must have one for my own. Oh Herbert would simply die seeing me in _that_!"

"Oh I saw material like that in Persia when I was vacationing with my darling fiancé. Oh you lucky girl, material like that is hard to come by, and very expensive. You have quite a man, young lady," a woman said as she brushed by her, smirking.

'Oh if only you knew,' Christine thought. These women could brag about Erik for ages, but would stop dead if they found out he was the infamous, disfigured Phantom. She sighed sadly, rustling over to where Madame Giry stood waiting for her. As Christine passed her coat to the young apprentice, Madame Giry caught her by her wrist, keeping a firm, but gentle grasp.

"You are playing with fire, child. I am warning you now: what you intend to do with Erik is your business, but if it should lead to his harm, you will not only suffer his wrath, but mine as well. That man has endured too much to have everything crushed again. You as well should watch yourself. The Vicomte might look a bit soft, but I know there is more than meets the eye. Take care, child." Christine weakened under the strong gaze the older woman held with her. She didn't know such soft spoken words could stir such chilling feelings.

Meg pretended to observe herself in the mirror next to them, as she listened to everything. Eyeing the two suspiciously, she said nothing, and left.

"What a day, don't you agree?" Christine asked exasperated that night. Meg glanced at her as she stretched.

"Quite tiring, yes. And full of interesting things. You know, things you should tell your best friend…"

Christine looked up, curious. Meg was staring at her strangely.

"What is it?"

"I overheard you and my mother talking. Would you like to tell me as well? Although, I know you're seeing the Phantom, I'd just like to know why."

"You know? How?"

"Erik. I know of only one man named Erik, and mother once told me that the Phantom's name was Erik. Now why have you chosen him over Raoul?"

"I don't know how to explain it, Meg. If you knew him the way I did, you'd know why I fancy him over Raoul. He's so much more dangerous, and we both are interested in similar things. He makes me feel things that Raoul can never come close to. When I kiss Raoul, I want to heave, and I have, as I'm sure your mother has told you by now. But when I kiss Erik, there's this small fire in the core of my stomach and my heart, and I want more. I see him, and my heart swells with love, and it races until it's fit to burst. I see Raoul, and it races, but in a way where I want desperately to fall off the roof of the opera house. I love Erik, Meg. I really do." Christine wiped the small tears that had begun to form in her eyes, and Meg wrapped her in a comforting embrace.

"Marry him, Christine. I am with you with all my soul, and I shall support you on everything you do. Marry him, and let me be your child's favorite auntie." They giggled, rocking each other.

"Oh I wish for that with all that is in me, Meg. But I fear I won't be seeing him soon. See, I kissed him, and he became suddenly startled, and bid me a well remainder of the year, saying he'd be busy with something. What do you suppose that means?"

"Well, with what my mother has told me, he's probably shocked that someone is actually in love with him, the way he's in love with that person. Give him time Christine, he will come around. I promise." She kissed her best friend on the cheek, and bid her goodnight as Christine left for her room.

"I pray that you are right, Meg," she whispered.


	4. Never Leave me: An Unexpected situation

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters.

Chapter Four

"Christine! I feel like I haven't seen you in ages. Where have you been?" the Vicomte asked, kissing her cheek.

It had been two weeks since her last encounter with her masked lover, and ever since that day, Christine wasn't acting herself. She ate less, rarely talked to anyone, and was often seen wandering the halls of the cavernous opera house at night, searching for someone no one else but she could see. She was literally dying without Erik. He was a sort of beacon of life for her, and the supply of warmth and vital necessities had been cut short, depriving her of a healthy life. She spent the two weeks, crying into her pillow, cursing herself for being so foolish and frightening him off. The little contact, or if you could call it that, she had with him was that of a few scattered roses here and there and nothing more. No notes, no songs, nothing but silence with the lovely scent of a lonely rose.

'He doesn't love me anymore,' she thought endlessly as she sat awake most midnights. 'Maybe he wants I should move on. No, don't be stupid. Wait for him, his heart will speak once again. I just hope it shall be for me, and not someone else.'

"Oh I've been around, you know. Shopping, mostly practicing my singing and dancing. Listen Raoul, I'm not feeling very well, I haven't been for the last few weeks, and I'd really like to get back to my room, if you don't mind." He smiled, his eyes laced with disappointment.

"Yes, but, I was hoping you'd allow me to take you out to dine somewhere nice. You look like you haven't been eating properly; I can see your cheekbones, slightly. Please, I shan't take no for an answer." 'He simply doesn't know when to claim defeat or rejection.' she thought. She looked into his eyes, feeling nothing but friendly warmth. 'No where near what I felt with Erik,' she thought.

In that one thought and instant, she allowed herself to burst with a diminutive feeling of hope. She could've kissed Raoul right there, but experience told her better. 'Perhaps if I were to get Erik jealous, he'd come back!' she thought, beaming on the inside.

"Where to, Monsieur?" she said grinning. He laughed, hugging her tight, and leading her off to some unknown destination.

"So I said to him, 'You wouldn't know a hand cut diamond if you'd carved it yourself,' and Monsieur Sharvei burst out cackling in that cheery way. Oh, it was quite a day, I can tell you. And can you believe that was only the morning? I haven't told you what happened during our little tea time. Well you see, we were all gathered around Monsieur De Lansoir's fire place and Jacques Favre was jabbering on about some woman he'd picked up at some filthy brothel, and it's the funniest thing…"

Christine drowned him out at last, her head pulsing with thoughts of useless rich men, who wouldn't know a hard day's work when they saw it. The one hour she'd spent so far with Raoul had driven her far beyond the edge, and she wanted to jab him with her bread knife. Throughout the carriage ride, the first course, and his maddening conversations he was having more with himself than with her, she'd thought and thought, and realized that she couldn't do what she'd planned to do to Erik, especially not with the Vicomte. She wanted to murder him more than Erik probably did. She wouldn't hurt him like that anymore. The feeling of another's hand on hers awoke her from her thoughts.

"Christine, I know it's five months away, but I wanted to get to the most gorgeous girl before anyone else. Will you attend the Masquerade Ball with me?" His eyes looked like those of a puppy she'd seen before, and she simply couldn't say no. Sighing, she figured she'd might as well give in, seeing as Erik wasn't going to step up, and because she didn't want to go alone.

"Of course I will. I couldn't imagine going with anyone else." she said, smiling halfheartedly. Just then, a plate crashed, and she turned, startled, to see who had done it. All she managed to capture was a broken dish, and the flutter of a black cloak leaving the posh restaurant. Her heart faltered, and her eyes widened.

"Erik," she breathed.

"What dear?" Raoul asked, wiping his mouth.

"Oh God, what have I done? Please excuse me Raoul, I just realized I had to meet with, uh, Madame Giry about something. I will see you later on." She left, rushing to catch up with the figure in black. She struggled to reach the quick paced man, her heart beating much too fast by the time she managed to stop him.

"Erik! Please stop, I know it's you! Stop!" Slowly, the man came to a halt, his shoulders shaking and breathing ragged.

"You couldn't imagine anyone else, Christine? How thoughtful of you to say." He said sadly. There was no intonation of anger anywhere in his voice. He was simply tired, and broken. Anger never once got him anywhere or anything, so he'd slowly given up on the feeling, letting sorrow and remorse run and ruin his life. She stalked up to him, forcing him to face her. He kept his head down, not wanting to draw a crowd, or worse, the police.

"Well what did you expect of me, Erik? I haven't heard from you in weeks. Do you expect me to just sit there wailing for your presence? Your voice? Your touch? Begging for a single note to know if you're alright?" Fearing for their exposure, he pulled her into a secluded alley.

"It seems that's all you've _been_ doing. Showing your undying devotion and love for me until that bastard showed up and swept you off your pretty little feet again. You were doing so well until you agreed to go with him. You're like his whore, you can't say no, doing whatever he wants you to do to please his desires. It won't be long until you're lying on your back, screaming for him to possess you." he spat out, disgusted with his thoughts and her actions. Anger swelled within her, lighting a fire fueled by pure fury. How could he say such vile things when he knew she loved him more than her own life? Letting her rage speak instead of her heart, she snapped back at him viciously.

"Well, at least he can possess me! He doesn't run off on me, like you did. Besides, if you don't have it in you to make me moan and beg then he might. You're right Monsieur, it won't be long." She turned away from him, her heart pounding. Her words were driven by wrath, and she didn't mean them. But he was simply asking for it. Confident she'd won, she smiled, but was suddenly startled as he spun her around to face him, his eyes burning into hers with pure rejection.

"So you admit that you do want him over me? You want to feel him inside you, branding you like some wild horse? And I'm the monster…I knew it; you could never want a man like me. You want someone handsome, someone who can make you feel filthy," he said, unexpectedly groping one of her breasts. Utterly shocked, she shoved him off, yet something inside her was begging for her to pull him back. Why did she feel so many mixed feelings whenever she was with him? She never knew what she wanted when he was around, and yet she did. She knew, somewhere in her heart, that he wanted her, but the look he always gave her these days sent her in another direction.

She couldn't take the confusion any longer. Did he want her or not? Why did she want him so much, when he made her feel bad? And why did she like feeling that way with him? And of all questions, there was one bothering her the most.

"Erik, why are you in such denial? Why do you refuse to accept that I _do_ love you? I don't fancy Raoul at all! Erik, it's you that I want to die next to, you that I want to have children with, you that I want to grow old next to, _you_ that I want to spend _eternity_ with! No one else but you, Erik, no one!" He stared at her, dumbfounded. Eternity...His silence could not be contained any longer. What she had just confessed was bliss in the form of words, and he was swelling with fulfilled joy that he couldn't hold back anymore.

"Christine I lo-"

"Lotte? Is that you I hear?" interrupted the bothersome Vicomte. Erik closed his eyes in exasperation, gritting his teeth. He opened them, some unknown emotion flashing through his golden eyes.

"I must leave." He snarled, and ran in the opposite direction of the Vicomte. Christine fell to her knees, unbelievably disappointed. He'd almost said it; he was on the verge of spilling the contents of his bubbling heart. But alas, fate was playing a cruel sick game. Why could she not get him to say it just once? Just once?

"Christine? What are you doing in here? Come on, Madame Giry will murder you if you are late."

"Do not tell me to calm down Madame! I love him, why won't you let me go and see him? I need to hear him, please take me to him!" Christine pleaded to Madame Giry, breaking not only her own heart, but her friend's and the older woman's as well.

"I'm sorry, but he ordered me not to let you go down there, and he is very busy child. Now calm down!" she said through gritted teeth as she forced her to sit.

"Child, I do not know what is going on between you two, but listen to me, and listen well. A man like Erik will be hard to contain, and right now, he's fit to kill the Vicomte _and_ you. If he is this uncontrollable now, imagine if you were to call him yours? You'd be his own personal rag. Listen, you are better off with the Vicomte. I speak from my knowledge and experience, Christine."

"Yes, but not from your heart. And you are wrong, are you listening to yourself speak? You know Erik would never harm me. I can contain him; he listens to me more than anyone. I'm the only one that man loves, and I can control his emotions if you'd give me the chance to prove it."

"I'm sorry, my sweet. He just won't allow it." Fatigued, she rushed the two girls off to bed, giving her daughter strict instructions to stay with the troubled brunette until morning.

They did not sleep that night. Meg allowed Christine to cry into her shoulder all night, as she sung small melodies to soothe the broken thing.

"Time Christine. You can only give it time…"

How much time, though, was still the mystery…

Masquerade Ball, December 31st.

Six months had gone by, and no sign of Erik had shown, at all. He had either hidden away in his lair, or he'd fled the city, deeply torn by Christine's actions.

Christine had become very lonely, and within two months of her lover's disappearance, she'd fallen into the trap of the Vicomte and his sweet words. An enormous ring rested on a chain on her breasts, the symbol of betrayal to the masked man if he were there. It wasn't that she loved Raoul, but she needed someone to hold her, please her, love her, and he was there, a shadow trailing behind her everyday up to the date.

She sighed, a sense of half-satisfaction coating her form. Though, as she'd mechanically trained herself to do, she faked a pretty smile for her fiancé as he twirled her about the golden ballroom. People pointed, and whispered. Everyone knew of her engagement to the rich man. Many were ecstatic, plenty shocked. But the reaction that confused her most was that of Madame Giry's. Every time she glanced at the older woman, her expression was that of disgust, betrayal, and disapproval. She tried to avoid the harsh glare as often as possible.

All went well, the music played on, people drank and danced on, and Christine continued to display her faux smile. Raoul beamed, foolishly believing her counterfeit grin for real love. His boyish looks sagged immediately as the lights dimmed, and all attention focused on a man, strikingly dressed in crimson robes.

She froze. Her eyes tried to visualize something else, but her heart knew it's calling.

Erik had returned.


	5. The Past becomes the Future

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters.

Chapter Five

'The looks on all their faces. Simply delicious to see such fear on their painted faces.' He chuckled to himself evilly.

"Fondest greeting to you all. What? No formal greeting for your dear Phantom? Such a pity that men and women of your social status can't stutter up even a soft hello." His amber eyes scanned the mass of golden faces, searching for one in particular. His hungry eyes found their prey, and slowly, he began to advance on the helpless victim.

"Did you think I'd left you all for good? Didn't you miss me, good people?" he paused, allowing his figure to be absorbed by the flabbergasted people, allowing the fear to pulse through their bodies.

"I have written you an opera good people: Don Juan Triumphant!" he declared, tossing the bulk of papers to a speechless Monsieur Firmin, who caught them with weak arms.

"I expect this to be your primary project for the remainder of the season, do you understand me, Monsieurs?" he growled in the face of the owners of the opera house. Slowly, their bodies stiffened with horror, they nodded.

"Madame Giry?" His eyes snapped to her, and she nodded obediently.

"Perfect. Now, the lead shall be taken by Monsieur Piangi, so I suggest you lose some weight Monsieur," the fat little man made a face, "and our little leading temptress, shall be played by none other than Mademoiselle Christine Daae, of course." His eyes slowly made their way to the frightened soprano's face. Her heart faltered, and her breathing momentarily ceased. Continuing to draw closer to her, her full form came into clear focus. The cocky smile he'd been displaying disappeared and was replaced by his trademark grimace. His eyes were no longer staring at her pale face, but at her breasts, oblivious to everyone else in the room. His breathing became ragged as he came to stand directly in front of her, his eyes darting from the chain on her neck, to her face, then to the chain again. A mixture of emotions swirled in his eyes, worrying Christine. Unconsciously, he raised his hand, reaching for the wretched chain. In a fit of rage, he tore the chain, along with the enormous ring, off her neck.

"YOUR CHAINS ARE STILL MINE!" he bellowed. Christine's jaw fell open in surprise, apparently having forgotten that the territorial marker of the Vicomte was still there.

"You belong to _me_," he hissed. Running back to the top of the staircase, he turned to face her once again, and with a swirl of his cape, he was gone.

The Vicomte, who'd disappeared sometime during the whole fiasco, suddenly reappeared where Erik had just stood, determinedly searching the ground. The soft voice of his fiancée and her hand placed delicately, yet heavily, on his shoulder stopped him.

"Give it up, Raoul. You could be split into a million men, and you would still never find him." He turned to her, but she refused to look at him in the face. Worry took over his face as she paled even more, clutching onto his shoulder for support.

'_He saw the ring. He saw the ring and now he hates me. There is certainly no recovery from this incident, I will never be forgiven. He must see me as such a filthy harlot…What have I done?'_

The entire disaster swelled inside of her, possessing her. The one thing she had dreaded ever since the proposal from Raoul had happened, and she was completely panicked. Suddenly, the situation seemed all too much for the troubled brunette, as she fainted, startling all those around her.

_What had she done?_

"Christine!" Raoul lifted her gently off the ground, cradling her frail body to his own, searching for anyone who could help.

"Please someone, anyone, please help me and my fiancée. Please!" His eyes scavenged the room, desperately trying to find someone who could help rid her of her spell.

A small, stout man standing next to a beautiful exotic-looking woman stepped forward rather meekly.

"I am a doctor, Monsieur Vicomte. Please, sir if you'd kindly, and immediately, follow me and my wife", he gestured to the stunning woman, obviously with him for his money, "I-I'm sure I could help. All my supplies are in my carriage. P-please follow me, sir…"

An hour later, after the help of some salts to wake Christine and no help from the panicking Raoul, the young Vicomte found himself in front of the door of Madame Giry's room. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked. He heard murmurs and something fell to the floor with a muffled thud. He barely made out the ballet mistress cursing to herself from somewhere behind the door. The heavy oak door creaked open an inch or so.

"Monsieur?.."

"Madame Giry, we must speak. I need to ask you about something. About-"

"Monsieur Erik, I know. You need not explain, Vicomte. You may enter." She stepped back, allowing him access to her large, yet humble room. He nervously, yet determinedly, walked in, his mind set.

Immediately after she shut her door, he rounded on her.

"What is this _Phantom's_ problem? Why is he completely sadistic? Threatening me, Christine, the people of this Opera house, the entire population of Paris? Why is this monster so indomitable about making my life a fiery living hell? Has he no mind? Conscience? Has the mad man no HEART?" His breathing was ragged, his temper beyond the possibility of calming it down. Madame Giry was another story. She simply continued to sit there, her hands folded delicately on her lap, watching the man with an expressionless face.

She didn't like this man, so her respect for him wasn't something she could boast about either. She'd literally forced herself to tell Christine that she'd be better off with him, but it was out of desperation to protect her from Erik's wrath. Truthfully, she detested him. He poked his head into matters that weren't any of his business every moment of every single day since his arrival. She hated that. Just weeks ago, they'd performed Faust, which, thanks to the meddling Vicomte, was a near disaster. Surprisingly, though not surprisingly (due to her depressed state) Christine wasn't in this show, so it surprised her that Raoul was always there. During one of the scarce rehearsals they had, due to the arrival and readying of the New Year, he'd randomly taken all the ballet rats for some frozen ice and tarts. She was enraged when she saw them all laughing like fools and shoveling sweets into their mouth as he told them a story.

She'd stood there for what seemed like ages watching them like a hawk, waiting to see if they'd spot her.

She'd seen enough.

"You girls, back to practice, _now._" Under her harsh glare, they scurried back in haste. She turned back to Raoul.

"Monsieur, although you are the Vicomte, and although you enjoy the arts, you _do not_ have the right to steal my students and take them to stuff their faces with sweets. Rehearsals are limited, and we haven't the time to be prancing about Paris."

"Oh, do forgive me Madame Giry, I meant no harm. I'll be sure to leave the stage until the performance. Good day to you," he smiled, excusing himself from Madame Croissant's Shoppe.

She fumed from every vent in her body. He acted as if all was bright and jolly, and he was delivered to Earth directly from God's hands. But she now knew better.

She walked back to the Opera Populaire angry and thoughtful. Something was bothering her, but she knew no one would believe her if she told.

All the while she stood in the shadows of the Shoppe, she saw something that angered her.

The Vicomte had had his hand placed upon the leg of one of her students, and was gently rubbing it. Her teeth gritted at the memory of it. No wonder he was there, regardless of Christine's absence. She noticed his change in behavior since he arrived. Rumors circulated about the populaire, and they weren't pretty. The so called "proper" man was nothing more than a rotten pervert, faking his good-boy persona for Christine.

Needless to say, due to the lack of practice for the play, it had major and minor slip ups, thanks to a certain nitwit.

And now there he stood, expecting pity and understanding from her.

_How dare he._

"Well Monsieur, if you want my honest opinion, _you_ are the one who has no heart." He turned to her, shocked.

"He kills innocent people, threatens all those among him, tortures Christine, and _I'm_ the heartless one? You've gone mad!" He was half laughing, half yelling, surprised that she would even think to take his side.

"You judge quickly Monsieur. Joseph, our stage hand, wasn't an angel first of all, and these people could do with a good lesson now and then, their heads being so far up in the clouds in a fairytale world. And of all things, you haven't the slightest clue of what this man has been through. So I suggest you hold your tongue."

"I am trying to rid the town of this pest, protect those in hell's path, and you dare to say that _he_ is the victim?" She nodded, calmly.

"Monsieur, you've had everything you have ever wanted, except for Christine, handed down to you on a golden platter. You stole her from a man who worships her, practically making a new religion out of the girl. He is merely fighting back for the second time in his miserable life."

"Second?"

"Yes, second. You see, you have judged Erik because of what he has done. You have not the slightest clue as to _why_ he is like that." She paused to sigh, leaning back into her chair to get comfortable.

"Years, years ago, when I was training to be a ballet girl, the ballet mistress allowed us all to go out for a night of relaxation. It was one of the older girl's ideas that we should go to visit a traveling fair that had come to town. Bored as we were, we agreed. I thought all was fair and fun, all sorts of treats and sweets that I could ever eat, but didn't. But then I arrived to another part of the fair, a mean, cruel part. A part that I still to this day regret going to for the things I saw, and am grateful for going to because I would unexpectedly help someone that night." She sighed, her eyes glazing over as she reminisced.

"There were so many 'freaks' as they called them, flaunting their grotesque bodies. Some of us dared to go into a small tent with a nastily painted sign reading 'The Devil's Child.' The moment we stepped in, my stomach twisted into a dreadful knot. I walked up to this, this filthy cage that not even a rat would touch, and inside I saw a small, shirtless boy, his body grimy and sullied with indescribable waste, and lined with whip marks. Yet I noticed one thing above all: he wore a worn sack over his head. I almost cried at the sight. Then, this wicked man stomped into the cage, a dirty whip in his hand, tugging at the sack. At last he managed to tear it off, and the boy's face was-was…disfigured, to put it kindly. He continued to whip him, and all those around me laughed and threw old bones and papers at him. When it was all over, I stood there, and he looked at me after he'd put his sack back on. The saddest thing in the world I have ever felt, was when I gazed into his eyes. All the sadness of the _world_ nestled into the small eyes of this, this _child_. All that pain and torture…" She broke down, sobbing gently into her hands.

Raoul looked at her, dumbfounded, yet still angered.

"Monsieur, he may be mad to you, but he is a man, like you. That night he fought for his freedom, was the first thing he'd ever fought for. I hid him in this opera house, and rid him of the world's cruelty. Yet you've brought all this pain back to him. Men can only take so much pain, and he's had the most of anybody. The only other thing that meant more to him than his freedom, was and is Christine, and you stole that. He is no longer a boy, he knows what he wants. The man is a genius, a composer, an inventor; he's come so far, when most would falter. Yet so much has built up, he was bound to trip and fall into lunacy…and I'm asking you Monsieur, can you blame him? After all the things he has been through, do you still dare to blame him?"

"Yes."

"You don't deserve Christine," she said suddenly. He glared at her.

"I've seen things, heard things, and know things. Let me ask you Monsieur: Has Christine ever once asked for help from this Phantom?" He turned away, blushing.

"No, she hasn't."

"See? Has it ever occurred to you that she may love this man as he loves her? "

"Madame-"

"Has it ever occurred to you that the two have shared more than just lessons?"

"Madame Giry-"

"Have you ever thought of what Christine wants? Have you ever asked her what she wants_? _Have you, Monsieur_? Have_ _you_?" Her voice remained calm as ever, yet those last words she stressed with power.

"_Enough_. I came here asking for help as to how I may rid this house of this madman, and all I received was this blasphemy from a woman equally as mad! Good day to you, Madame!" He stalked over to the door, yanked it open, and disappeared into the shadows.

"Fool," she mumbled furiously, still dabbing at her eyes.

Back in her room, Christine was furiously trying to open the entrance to Erik's tunnel. Her eyes red and streaming, she let out a shriek of frustration. Angry that he'd sealed the mirror somehow, she ran over to her small desk, retrieved a small jewelry box, and threw it at her reflection. It smashed loudly, sending shards of jagged glass into the dank tunnel.

"I'm coming, Erik," she whispered, gathering up the material of her dress.

"Christine?" came the muffled voice of Raoul. He was knocking furiously. Her eyes snapped open wide, and she began sweeping up the broken glass aside with her shoe.

"Christine, open this door right now," he bellowed, worried.

"One moment, I'm not proper!"

A minute later, she opened the door, and he rushed in, his eyes searching wildly about the room.

"Are you okay? How do you feel? Shall I send for another doctor? What-" she placed her hand over his mouth.

"Hush, please. I'm fine; I'm just a bit shaken is all." She smiled, desperately trying to reassure him so that he could leave. He took her hand off his mouth, and kissed it.

"Okay, love." He let her go and idly walked around the room, trying to inconspicuously study the room. His eyebrows knitted together as his eyes rested on the large mirror in the back of the room.

"Christine, why is there a sheet over this mirror?" He walked over to it, his hand outstretched.

"Raoul, wait! Please don't remove it. I-I cannot bear to see myself right now! I'm a mess, and I'll only go into another fit if I see my poor reflection." He stopped inches from the glass, and turned to look at her. Her eyes pleaded for his understanding. He nodded, and stepped away.

"Will you be fine for tonight on your own, or shall I accompany you tonight?"

"No, no I shall be fine by myself. Please, go rest yourself. Goodnight, Raoul." He kissed her, accidently biting her lip.

"Sorry. Goodnight, Lotte."

Once she locked the door, and waited until she heard his footsteps die, she scurried towards the mirror, determination written on her normally soft features.

She would go see Erik tonight, whether he wanted to see her or not.


	6. Delayed Confessions, Revealed

Disclaimer: I don't own The Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters.

Chapter Six

"The rotten viper…that vile, no good woman. After all I've given her…And this," Erik held up the silver chain, "this is how she repays me," he spat. He sat in a small room next to Christine's room, the swan's head visible out of the corner of his eye. If he concentrated hard enough, he could still see her lying there. He closed his eyes.

A small feeling rumbled in the pit of his stomach, slowly making it's way up his throat, and into his eyes. Tears streamed down his face, smearing the black make-up from his costume, which he still sported. His hand searched for the glass holding the strong smelling liquid. He opened eyes, seeing the swan again. Rage swarmed through him as he let out a loud growl, throwing the glass against the wall.

His scarlet cape suddenly became unbearable to wear, and he began to sweat under all the heavy fabric.

"Perhaps a bath would calm my nerves," he grumbled, peeling off the wretched costume.

"Why must it be so dim in here? You'd think he'd put more candles-OW!" She rubbed her right foot, pain searing from the bottom, up. She'd stabbed it into something extremely sharp; she realized this when she tried to touch it. A damsel put into a situation like this, would undoubtedly give up and walk no further until someone came to help her, but Christine was determined to get to Erik and straighten things out, even if she died trying.

Limping into the darkness, she moved on.

Once at the entrance to the lake, she froze. There was no boat. Panic rose out of nowhere, and a slight sweat broke out on her forehead. She glanced around desperately for anything that would keep her afloat. Fortunately, God had taken pity for the girl as she spotted an old, tiny wooden boat inches away from the dock.

Once inside, she prayed to God to give her the strength to row to her lover.

He lay with his head resting on the edge of the white tub, breathing in the scent of sandalwood. His mask was still on; he didn't dare take it off even in the privacy of his own bath.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he sensed her presence. He sighed, swallowing down his anguish before it resurfaced as tears.

"Why are you here?" he whispered. She fiddled with her fingers, looking down guiltily. She swallowed down the lump residing in her throat.

"I came here to apologize."

"Oh?"

"A-and to explain about the ring, and Raoul-"

"Do not say his name while you are in my domain, and don't fret, there is no need to explain. Your actions are shouting louder throughout this opera house than your words can. You've made your choice; now leave me to die alone, as fate intended me to."

"Erik, I-I came here for one purpose and one alone: to tell you, explain to you, and I will not leave until I have." He remained quiet, and she limped forward an inch.

"I hadn't heard from you for months, and I went with _him _out of pure weakness, for my angel was nowhere to be seen, to hold me up. I do not love him Erik, I never have and I shan't ever. I love you, and I am truly, truly sorry for my moment of weakness."

"It wasn't a moment Christine, it lasted a few months. That was more than a moment."

"Well you simply vanished without so much as a good-bye, without so much as an I love you!"

"I was about to tell you, if that bastard hadn't showed up to ruin everything like he always-"

"The only one ruining everything is _you_! Who gives a damn about what he thinks! I would've run away with you if you'd just told me right then and there! You've had so many chances, yet you've blown them all away. You're a coward-"

Anger had found its soul mate once again as he sprang out from the bath, glaring at her. Never paying any mind to the fact that he'd been naked in a bath the entire time, she blushed instantly, her eyes locking onto his manhood. He didn't seem to notice or care at the moment, and pointed at her.

"Don't you dare call me a coward! If anyone is a coward, it's that fop of a man that you agreed to _marry_ for stealing another man's love! A real man would've found that on his own!" His breathing was ragged, yet it stopped as he noticed a slight draft, and looked at her face. She was staring at his…

"It is not polite to stare, Christine," he said flatly, covering himself with a nearby towel.

"I-forgive me, it's just that it's so-so…big." He turned away, smiling to himself, then remembered who was in the room and grimaced.

"Perhaps you should leave; we wouldn't want your precious fiancé to worry." He turned to face her, and saw her limping to him, her expression now turned to hopeful rather than upset.

"Not until you tell me what I want to hear."

"Why are you limping?"

"Never mind that. Tell me what I need to hear."

"Christine, your foot-" She covered his mouth with her hand, then cupped his face, gazing deep into his never ending eyes.

"Tell me." All the anger he'd built up came crumbling down as her hands caressed him. He stared into her eyes, an ocean flooding his heart. All he'd ever lived for was her, and he'd be a damn idiot if he let her go for the sake of a mistake. He'd come too far. She loved him, didn't she? He couldn't fool anyone; he loved her and could never hold a grudge on her for too long. Reason had at last found its way out as he told her,

"I love you, Christine." Then, the most radiant smile he'd ever seen erupted onto her features, melting his iron heart. He leaned in, stealing her breath in a deep, sensual kiss. His tongue parted her lips, exploring every region of her mouth. She moaned ever so softly, making him tighten his embrace around her. Thinking it might last forever, he pulled apart, still concerned.

"Now, your foot," he smiled. Dazed, she simply nodded lazily, oblivious to what he was doing, and awoke to find herself on a cushioned swan bed.

"Now, Mademoiselle, how did this happen?" he asked, pulling out a small nail from the bottom of her foot. She gasped, clenching her fists into the sheets.

"I hurt it trying to get to you."

"Brave girl," he cooed as he wrapped her foot gently. "All done love." He rubbed the top of her dainty dancing tool, making her groan.

"That feels nice, Erik," she purred. The sound of her voice and her small groans began to penetrate his mind, sending small messages throughout his body. His hands travelled further up her leg, massaging her calf. Small moans escaped from her lips, and he shut his eyes, forbidden images sprouting up in his mind. His hand moved up to her knee, and she purred. That was all it took.

He gazed down in horror as his member began to rise, her moans the music to his snake. The fact that he merely wore a towel was absolutely no consolation whatsoever. He stopped touching her, looking around for anything to hide it. As luck would have it, it was too late.

"Erik, why have you stopped-Erik!" she blushed, turning away.

"Oh, please forgive me, it's just that your breath, and the way you sigh-"

"Please, don't explain, I understand. Please calm down," she said, slowly turning to face him. His hands were hanging at his sides, and despite the panic she knew he felt, his face remained calm. She stared at it, scared yet utterly curious.

"Is-is _that_ what I do to you, Erik?" It looked like she was talking to his member rather than him, he smiled, trying not to chuckle at the thought.

"Yes. This is what you do to me. And if I may be as bold as to say that this isn't the first time you've done this."

"I have done this to you before?"

"Yes, many times." She finally tore her eyes away, and stared into his amber eyes. Without any shred of shyness, she asked him.

"May I see it?"

"You have already seen it."

"Not when it is hard. Elizabeth told me it looks different hard." He chuckled at her innocence. After a moment of thought, he nodded slowly, and stood to remove the towel, revealing his proud friend. Her eyes widened.

"It's even bigger now!" For some reason, he felt awkward standing there before her with his organ in midair.

"May I touch it?"

"What?"

"Oh, may I touch it _please_?" She batted her eyelashes, smiling. Reluctantly, he nodded. Walking over to him, she kneeled down, and slowly placed her hand on it.

'_She is going to be the death of me…'_ he thought.

TBC…Up next, they finally…well they do the deed. ;


	7. Music of the Night

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters.

Chapter Seven

Her eagerness was surprising to him. She boldly strode over to him, not a trace of hesitance on her face. It was as if she'd suddenly become a woman right before his eyes. She'd erupted from her cocoon with her wings ready to fly.

"It's so…Erik, it's very hard. It's so big…" she continued to toy with it, lifting it, squeezing it, and rubbing it. He gasped. He threw her hands off, breathing hard.

"That is not a good idea Christine."

"Why not, I was only rubbing it-"

"My point exactly. Look, allow me to finish massaging your charming little legs." The pout she'd began to sport vanished, replaced with a smile. A strange smile. Thinking nothing of it, he sat back down and began to massage her gently.

Now, Christine Daae was one of the most innocent, most polite girls you could meet in the city of Paris. But eventually, a flower must bloom, and attract bees with wicked stingers. Erik was that willing bee with the prickly stinger that was sure to leave her throbbing with a newfound sensation. After all, she'd heard enough from some of the other more experienced ballet rats to know what she could do.

She smirked mischievously as he rubbed her knee. As slowly and carefully as she could manage, she slid down her chair an inch or so. Placing her foot on his slowly deflating groin, she began to massage it in circular movements. He gasped, feebly trying to push her off. But it was no use, she had taken complete control over his movements, making him whimper softly and massage her leg harder. She moaned almost imperceptibly.

"Ch-Christine, please. I can't take it anymore, you must stop." His grip on her leg tightened even more.

"No, I know this feels good for you. I want to please you, that's all I want. I want you to want me. No one else but me." Her words were venom to his body, weakening him entirely.

"Only you, Christine," then, unconsciously, he began trailing kisses up her leg, sliding his hands to her thigh and kneading it tenderly. He'd never done a thing to a woman, but instinct took over as he let his hands slowly work their way closer to her warmth. He inched his fingertips to her steamy underclothes, barely touching it.

"ERIK!" she shrieked. She made to close her legs, but he held her down firmly, smirking up at her.

"Now Christine, I've been a good little boy in allowing you to play on my organ, now be a dear and allow me to play with yours," he said, his voice thick. The huskiness of his voice was all she needed to hear. It was the password into her realm, and weakly, she obliged by letting him explore. After all these years of waiting he wasn't about to waste another moment. He delved right in, making himself at home.

He continued toying with her, watching her squirm helplessly. Slowly, his lust began to rise, his breathing quickening as he saw her face pinch together then relax. Realizing he'd finally gotten her where and how he wanted her, all thoughts of earlier melted away, and he was left with only two thoughts in mind: should he take her in this chair, or on the bed? Seeing as the latter of the two was more rational, he stood abruptly, and scooped her up in his firm arms, startling her. Along the short journey, he glanced down at her and smirked. She was paralyzed, her eyes glazed over by want and curiosity.

As gently as he could, he placed her on the bed, lying down next to her. He stroked her cheek, soaking up this moment and filling every little space in his mind with her beauty.

"Christine, do you want me?" he whispered, moving his hand further downward to her chest. She mustered up a small whimper.

"I cannot hear you, love. Christine, do you want me?" His hand moved to her corseted belly. Again, all she could produce from her pink lips was a small noise. Sighing, his hand slithered until it was under the thick folds of her dress and sliding up her thigh. He swiftly snaked his hand into her undergarment, making her eyes widen and her breath quicken.

"Christine…do you _want_ me?" he hissed, slipping a finger into her hot mound. Her back arched, and she screamed.

"YES ERIK I WANT YOU I NEED YOU TAKE ME PLEASE!" He chuckled sinisterly, his erection stiffening ever more.

"As you wish my goddess." He pulled out his now soaked finger, jumping off of the bed to toss his clothing all over the room in his excitement. When he returned, she was still lying there, breathing laboriously. Softly, slowly, he began peeling away her wretched clothing, leaving behind a trail of kisses where material once reigned. At last he reached the one place he dreaded: her corset. His need was much too great, however, so he sprang up, rushing out of the room and returning with a small knife. Her eyes shot wide open, as if realizing what was happening for the first time. The tables had turned, and she was now his for the taking.

Crawling over to her on the bed, he placed the edge of the knife at the top of her corset where her breasts were heaving with fear and excitement. In one swift movement, the foul contraption was lying on the floor, and her breasts were left with only a ridiculously thin chemise for cover. Seeing no point in making another trip to put away something this useful, he cut off the rest of the dress as well, her chemise straining to cover anything at all.

"Never wear a corset when you visit me again. Ever," he hissed, his eyes ravaging her clad body, her small nipples already bulging, begging for a way out. And who was he to prevent that?

Christine, who'd had her eyes shut tight the entire time in pure bliss, heard a small ripping noise, and shortly after felt a small draft. Curiosity overpowering fear, she looked down, flabbergasted in seeing her now fully nude body.

"Erik!" she yelped, trying uselessly to cover herself with her hands. He laughed, thinking it so cute that she was acting so innocent when only moments ago, she'd been the one tantalizing him. Suddenly, he was upon her, pinning her hands down with his own, his head dipping low to catch one of her nipples in his mouth. Despite the fight she was putting, they both knew she wanted this. She'd _always_ wanted this. It was all just so new to her. All struggling ceased as his sucking became softer, his tongue caressing her pink nipple.

"Oh, Erik…" she sighed, her lower body arching up to him, beckoning for touch. His head only moved from one breast to the other. A small ache in the pit of her stomach began to grow increasingly worse, begging for something more. Yet she didn't know what it was. It spread from her stomach to her arms, legs, poisoning her inexperienced mind, and resting on her heated flesh. She needed him now more than ever.

"Erik, p-p-please…please…" she pleaded, needing more than just a small piece. He lifted his head, her small, hard skin still in his mouth, stretching it until she hissed in pain intertwined with pleasure. Nipping at it, he let it fall, watching it in awe as it bounced back onto her chest.

"Please what, Christine?" he whispered into her ear, his hands trailing away from her hands to her breasts, gently groping them.

"T-take me…p-please." He smiled down at her, taking her in as if this was the first and last time they would ever do this.

She could wait a moment more; he wanted to explore what he was about to conquer. Kissing her soft tummy, he made his way further south, the stubble on his chin making her jump as it made contact with her pink flesh. He proceeded to go around it though, and as he licked her inner thigh, he peered up at it, noticing a small pink nub at the top. Curiously, he pulled away from her leg, dilatorily reaching out a finger to touch it. He heard a sharp intake of air. Eager to see more, he caught the small thing in between two fingers, rolling it back and forth with tenderness. Small, short exhales of breath emitted from her, her back arching in small, convulsive movements. He found himself smiling broadly, wanting more from her. An idea darted into his head, and he followed it, placing his mouth over her precious gem. He sucked and licked, rolling his tongue rapidly from side to side, making her scream his name louder than he'd ever heard her before. His hot mouth sealed out any other draft, the tip of his tongue slid in all different directions on her pink pearl. Her small moans and silent screams made him even harder to the point of release.

Christine yanked his head up by his chin abruptly, her eyes ablaze as they pierced his eyes.

"No more, please! I-I need you now, p-please, I cannot bear it any longer. T-take me, please…" Nodding, he lifted himself up. Slowly, he lowered himself a bit more, positioning himself at her steaming entrance.

She looked down, amazed to see that he looked even bigger than before. Her hands rested on his arms, her fingernails digging into his skin.

"Trust me," he whispered, kissing her tenderly. When it was broken, she looked up at him, nodding. Placing his tip next to her throbbing womanhood, he laid down on her, allowing her to squeeze him as with one thrust, all her innocence and childhood vanished with a sharp pain. She cried out, biting his shoulder. All his aggressiveness melted away as she sobbed quietly into the crook of his neck. He'd never, in any lifetime no matter how angry he was with her, want to inflict this kind of pain, and for him to have done it broke him in two. But it would get better: she would be yelling out his name in a moment.

Once her tears stopped flowing, she pulled away from him, looking into his golden eyes. Slowly, he pulled out of her, and then slammed into her again. She shrieked again, but this time out of pure bliss. He smiled.

He continued to ram into her, slapping noises echoing off the walls of his lair. Beads of sweat rolled down the unmasked portion of his otherwise handsome face. Their bodies were one; rocking back and forth with only the sound of echoing moans and gasps piercing the air around them. His hands shot out to her hips, grasping them for dear life as his member slipped in and out of her sultry mound of flesh. He dipped his head, sucking fiercely on one of her rock-hard nipples.

"Erik…f-faster…" she whispered hoarsely as she feebly dug her nails into the flesh of his shoulders. Slashing his teeth over her small breast, he growled like a wild animal, throwing her legs over his shoulders.

"ERIK!"

His only response was a low grunt, followed by Christine's small yelps for more.

Never had he thought, in all his wild fantasies about this woman lying helplessly under his towering form, that it would feel so heavenly. Her womanhood throbbed all around his large shaft, pulsating with the threat to leave him in a heap of spent bliss. He didn't want it to end, wanting it to last an eternity. Remembering something he'd seen in one of his countless books, he pulled out of her, her eyes snapping open in insult.

Lying on his side, he positioned her on hers as well, picking up the leg on top, and slowly, excruciatingly slid inside her, ridding her of her separation anxiety. Then, he just lay inside her, moving nothing at all.

"Erik…" she warned. Chuckling evilly, he pulled out, and then slammed into her with surprising power.

Her mind was in too much of a daze for her to even think. The only thought she could muster up was how good it felt. No, it was beyond good. It was something beyond this world.

Instinctively, he felt his release approaching, and by the way she was throbbing told him she was almost ready as well. Wanting her to see him as he claimed her once and for all, he flipped her over once more and crushed his lips to her as his hot, sticky seed spilled inside her.

"I love you, Erik," she whispered when he'd pulled away to kiss her neck. He looked up, exhausted.

"I love you too, Christine."

Morning was but hours away, and they both needed their rest. Lying in a heap of sweaty, tangled limbs, sleep overcame them both.

XOXOX

"I must go, Charlize."

"It's Liz Beth, Monsieur." the young girl piped up, her naked upper body the only thing visible from under the sheets. The Vicomte looked back uninterested, buttoning his pants.

"Oh, yes Liz Beth, right. Well I'm off, and remember, tell anyone of this encounter, and I'll be sure that you're removed from this house." Without a backward glance, he left the room in search of his "love".

As he approached her door, he checked his breath, and his skin and clothing for any marks. Finding none within his view, he knocked, his usual misleading smile finding its way onto his face. He waited for quite some time, never getting a response. Slightly worried, he tried the knob, finding it to be locked. Remembering the key he'd nicked from the managers' office earlier that week, he opened it.

"Christine? Christine, are you asleep? I came to check on you love, see if you're…all…right…" Raoul's voice stopped dead when he saw an empty bed, and spotted a broken mirror leading into a daft passage. His heart told him it was some sort of sick illusion, but his mind told him otherwise. He'd never seen this entrance in his life, but he knew exactly where it led. And he was prepared to wait all night if he had to until she returned…

'_The rotten harlot,' _He thought.


	8. Prisoner

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters.

Chapter Eight

As sunlight poured into every crack and window of the massive opera house, darkness and a slight chill seeped into the bones of two weary figures curled up against one another on a plush bed in the shape of a swan. A sudden gust of cool air blew gently against the brunette's back, causing a tremor to snake its way up her spine and escape as a small breath of air.

"C-cold…" she mumbled, wrapping her arms over her exposed breasts, bringing her legs closer to her upper body.

Focused on trying to find any dying trace of warmth, she'd completely forgotten where she was lying.

And with whom she was lying with.

The opposite side of the bed shifted, and she froze, hesitant to open her eyes. Just as she'd managed to muster up any courage to do so, a pair of firm, warm arms enveloped her in a tight embrace.

"I'll make it better, my love," a deep, luxurious whisper said. It took only a split second for the young diva to recognize who it was. She smiled, wriggling her way closer to his body.

"Erik, my dearest love. Forgive me, and don't think of me as some heartless girl, but I'd forgotten with whom I was with. But," she placed a tender kiss on his lips, gaining a growl of approval, " I guess that's just how good you are at…well you know what. You simply blew my mind away." She buried her face in his chest, slightly embarrassed by her words. He chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

"We could make you go completely dense right now if you'd like, my sweet," he grumbled into her ear. She blushed.

"I would like that very much, my angel." She smiled, climbing onto his stunning body, trailing kisses down his chiseled chest. She couldn't help but smile as a low rumble lightly shook his chest. Her lips traveled further down, teasing him, making him wriggle about.

"Christine, I could keep you here forever. Never let you out of this-"

"Mercy, Erik, I must resurface! People will begin to wonder! Oh, I mustn't miss rehearsal either! Oh I'm so sorry my love, I must go!" She swiftly brushed her lips across his, scrambling around the room, gathering her clothes.

"But I-you just-you can't just leave me here with this," he stuttered, gesturing to his hard member. She laughed, stumbling over one of his shoes.

"I'm sorry love, so very, deeply, truly sorry. You will have to take care of him on your own. I must depart. Good-bye Erik," she gasped, out of breath, kissing his cheek. "Good-bye my love," she said, gently kissing the top of his groin. He growled.

"You're so horrid to me." he hissed. She chuckled, running towards the lake, clothes still bundled up.

XOXOX

The young brunette, pit-patted along the tunnel leading to her room. Confident that her room was still empty and locked, she was still nude.

"Oh, Madame Giry is going to murder me…" The cold air dissolved behind her as she stepped through the portal into another world. A world not fit for her lover. Tossing aside her soiled clothing, she rushed over to her dresser, desperately searching for something decent to wear.

"Did you have fun, Lotte?"

She froze, her breath caught in her throat. It was as if the reaper himself had glided into the room, for the cold had seeped back into her body.

"Raoul?" she whispered as she spun around. After a moment of disbelief, she remembered her exposed flesh. Her eyes rolled about, looking for cover.

"Oh yes Christine, continue to deny me what you have given to that beast. Me of all people, the one man that can give you everything, yet you still give yourself that demon like a common whore!" He stood up, throwing a nearby lamp across the room and into the wall.

"Raoul, you're scaring me-"

"I could give a damn harlot! Understand right now that I'm getting what I've worked for right here, right now. You'll deny me no more. You are my property, and never forget it, you hear?" He rasped, grabbing a handful of her hair, yanking her head back.

"Raoul, ow! What's gotten into you? Please stop-"

"Shut up!" he yelled, pushing her onto the bed.

"Raoul, what are you doing, please stop I'm scared I-GET OFF PLEASE DON'T!"

"ENOUGH!" He slapped her hard across her porcelain face, mounting her.

"You'll shut your mouth this instant, and take what I give you. This is your future Christine, accept it." Tears streamed down her face as he forced her legs open, one-handedly undoing his trousers, while keeping one hand on her mouth.

Then, a miracle happened.

"Christine Daae, you wake yourself up this instant. Rehearsals are about to begin and you are not about to fake an ailment with me!" The frustrated voice of Madame Giry yelled along with several knocks.

"Damn woman and her constant nagging…Listen well, you will go to rehearsals, dine with me, and stay where I can see you at all times. You will also wear this ring at all times. You are my future wife, despite the way you've been opening your legs. It is not about to be known that I failed. I always win Christine. Always. I'll be waiting outside the door. If you run, I will see to it that your legs are broken."

XOXOX

Alone in her room, the soprano sobbed silent tears into the sheets of her bed, while the man she loved danced about his labyrinth without any suspicion whatsoever.

A/N: I'm so sorry this chapter isn't very good. But I promise I'll try harder.


	9. Wrong Interpretations

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters.

Chapter Nine

"I do not know doctor, the girl simply refuses to eat, sleep, for heaven's sake, she refuses to sing! You are positive there is nothing wrong with her, she isn't ill in any way?" Madame Giry's fists clenched in frustration, her gaze flickering from the doctor, to the quiet Vicomte sulking in the corner, to the feeble soprano sitting lifelessly in front of her.

"No Madame Giry, there is nothing wrong with this child. She is in good health, but eh, she needs to eat more. Further self deprivation of food and the girl will surely waste away entirely."

The older woman sighed tiredly, nodding at the doctor. "Very well Monsieur, thank you for your time. Please, allow me to show you to the door, kind sir."

The two walked out of the room at a brisk pace. Raoul waited, listening intently until their footsteps faded away. Once in safety, he flew up to her, grasping her by the shoulders.

"What is the matter with you, you stupid girl? Hm? Attracting all this attention with your little act, making everything obvious. You make me sick!" he spat, slapping her. What made it worse was her refusal to show any emotion. Every slap, insult, name, and threat thrown at her were answered with empty, expressionless faces.

He let her go, striding over to the door. "I'll be back for you in an hour or so. Sophie, or whatever the hell her name is, is expecting me. You'd better be ready by the time I get back."

Once the heavy door clicked shut, the wasting diva shuffled over to the sealed hole in the wall where the entrance to her haven used to be. All she could do was rest her head against the thick wooden boards the Vicomte had nailed over it. She stared blankly at the opposite wall, the tears coming easily as always. What made it worse was that, for some inexplicable reason, Erik hadn't even attempted to visit her. She knew of nothing going on with her love, she was being abused by someone she used to trust, and the worst part was the emptiness the loss of her angel was causing. It was to the point where suicide was becoming an option.

Where was her angel?

XOXOX

Deep below the luxurious Opera Populaire, in a room with an unusual bed, lay a man with a grimace on his troubled face.

About a week ago, after his little encounter with Christine, he decided to venture to the room of his beloved. Before leaving, he bathed, put on his best cloak and suit, cleaned his mask so that it shined like a twinkling star, and carefully picked a dozen beauteous roses from the many he had around his lair. He tied a dazzling black silk ribbon around the batch of tiny hearts, and added a small note in between the ribbon and roses. Lastly, he swiped a small box from his room, and took off. When he reached the damp hallway leading to her room, he paused, nervously tidying his hair and adjusting his mask. Finally he took a deep breath, and proceeded forward. He was in for a nasty shock.

Thick, wooden boards were crudely nailed over the entrance, splinters and nails protruding viciously. Now normally this wouldn't pose even a small challenge to Erik; he could tear out those boards with his bare teeth. But the man had finally connected to a woman for the first time, and it was a woman he loved. Immediately, the first thought that sprung into his mind was one of regret.

'_She regrets having done anything with me. She wants nothing to do with me, she despises me. Of course, why would she, or anyone for that matter, want a…a thing like me? I was a fool to think otherwise.'_

Beaten, he turned slowly and began heading back to the deepest layers of the opera house, deep into the pits of hell.

Now he lay there, one hand covering his eyes, the other holding the crumpled letter that was supposed to be for Christine. It was times like theses that he appreciated have a horrid face. The home provided by his harsh face was a perfect place to shed tears. No one would ever know that the almighty and terrifying Phantom shed tears of pain and weakness.

This was his life now, a majority of his time was spent on his bed gazing longingly at the crumpled little note. He sighed raggedly.

He'd worked too hard to give up that easily. One more try wouldn't hurt. He jumped off the bed, snatched his cloak off the floor, and tossed the note on the bed side table next to the withering, near-black roses.

XOXOX

"Well, you actually listened for once. Now that we're both ready, let's go. We have an announcement to make. That ring alone isn't doing it's job. Let's go." Raoul yanked the poor girl up off her chair, and practically dragged her out of the room.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice cracked.

"Grand Hall, if you must know. Just shut your mouth and smile the whole time." A nasty knot formed in Christine's empty stomach. In a way, she knew what was coming, and with her condition, there was no stopping it.

"Madame Giry, the only advice I can give you is to just watch her carefully. Attempt to get her to eat as often as you can. And if that boy isn't around, well, the better for her."

"What do you mean, Monsieur?" she asked, knowing very well what the answer was.

"Madame, pardon me, but Monsieur le Vicomte gives me a dreaded feeling. The way he hovers about, the way Mademoiselle Daae pales when he's present, it's just frightening. Do look after the dear girl, Madame." he finished, his eyes wide and sincere. She nodded.

"I will, Monsieur. Au revoir." She watched him get into his coach, her smile faltering as it clopped away. She sighed, turning to head back inside. What had happened these past few months to make everything go wrong?

He'd decided to take the long way to her room. He hadn't made his usual rounds around the house in ages. Besides, it wasn't like she really wanted to see him anyway.

He walked through the dressing rooms. Empty. Walked past a few cleaning supply rooms. Empty. Brushed past the managers' office. Empty. He walked through every nook and cranny there but saw no one. At last, he came to the Grand Hall. Surprisingly, it was packed to the brim with people. All the ballet rats, the managers, a few frequent visitors and the like. Everyone was there, and they were all focused on something atop the stairs. He turned around in the small space he was occupying in the wall. When his eyes finally focused, his heart fell to the floor, his breathing halted, and all the wounds tore open once again. Christine stood there, hand in hand with Raoul, an enormous smile on both their faces. Hot tears rolled down his porcelain cheek.

"You all have probably noticed the ring Christine has been sporting around this past week. Well, just to reassure all of you who weren't sure, we are engaged to be married. In fact, the wedding will be this Sunday. You're all invited!" Christine's false smile faltered here, but it went unnoticed by Erik, whose vision was much too blurred to see anything. Furious and hurt, he stormed off.

"Until the wedding, dear friends!" Raoul finished. A few of the younger ballet girls, who'd had relations with the Vicomte, looked around uncomfortably. The young naïve girls were barely aware he'd only used them. Now he was to get married? He'd been with Christine this whole time. It made them slightly sick.

XOXOX

"This Sunday? Raoul that's much too soon, it's near impossible," Christine croaked shortly afterward in her room.

"Nothing is out of my reach. If I want a wedding this Sunday, I will have it. I told you Christine, I never lose. Now excuse me, I'm going out with some friends for dinner. Good-bye."

The door clicked shut. She rolled her eyes. By friends, he surely meant a random prostitute. She rubbed her hand; Raoul had been crushing it all the while, making sure that she'd kept smiling. She looked to the floor. All she could really do was sit there, hoping for a miracle.

She heard the door creak open. She was filled with fear and hope all at once. Fear that it might be Raoul again, and hope that it might be Erik.

"Christine, we must talk," came the calm voice of Madame Giry. She looked up, her eyes already filling with tears. She almost sprang off the bed, the most energy she'd shown in days, to hug the older woman. The woman she'd looked to as a mother for so long.

"What is happening? You are to be married so soon, when I can clearly see that you don't want to be anywhere near the Vicomte. Tell me everything. What has been going on these past months, and don't leave any detail out."

Taking a deep breath, the younger of the two began to narrate the series of events that lead up to the date. Madame Giry was slightly shocked at what Christine had done with Erik, but was filled with a strong sense of joy as she observed the girl's facial expressions. She was smiling for the first time in days.

"And now, well, he hasn't even come to see me. But I don't blame him. Someone as beautiful as him should just forget about someone like me." she whispered. Madame Giry sighed. She really had fallen for the masked man. Fallen like a ton of bricks.

"Well, ma cherie, have you thought, perhaps, that those boards over that entrance might have given him the wrong impression, if he'd already tried to see you?"

"I don't know. He could tear those things in half with one hand."

"Yes, but Christine, you know what kind of man this is. He's sensitive, my dear. He might have thought that maybe you had them put there. He might think that you don't want him, after what happened, and that can be very damaging to someone like Erik."

Christine's eyes widened, fear passing over her face.

"Oh no, what have I done? Oh this is all my fault, Madame Giry, what do I do?"

"Calm down my dear. Just, please, allow me to talk to him-"

"No, with all do respect Madame, I think I should be the one to talk to him. I've done him this damage, I must be the one to fix it."

"Very well", she sighed, " if you think it right, then we will find a way for you to speak with him. It is only Tuesday, we still have time."

"I hope, though, it is enough."

XOXOX

Never had he sobbed so hard. Small objects lay about his lair, broken and smashed to bits.

What had he been thinking? Someone as beautiful as her…of course it was just out of pity. He sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. When he could finally manage to take a deep, shaky breath, he looked up. The note still lay there, wrinkled. He reached out a trembling hand to pick it up. Slowly, he unfolded it, sharp daggers piercing him repeatedly as he read the four foolishly hopeful words over and over again.

Anger and repulsion filled him again. He tossed it aside, then buried his face in his pillow, soaking the feather stuffed sack.

The note lay unwanted and unused on the floor. The lines that read "Will you marry me?" were smeared with fresh tears from the broken man .

A/N: I know, finally, a new chapter!!!


	10. Sorry Dear Readers

Readers: I apologize for the lack of updates, but my laptop was on the fritz and I only barely got it back. I should be back on track in the following weeks to come. Please allow me to catch up on my stories, and I'm truly, very sorry for the delay.

LoveLoveLove,

Snapepoto


	11. Into the Ice

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters.

Chapter Ten

"How do I look? Is it too much? Please be honest," the young diva said, smoothing out her dress repeatedly. Meg sighed, tugging at the dress here and there.

"You look lovely as ever. I don't think you could ever look terrible even if you tried to. Right Maman?" She turned her head towards her mother, who stood behind her, smiling gently.

"Yes my dear. You look so graceful in that dress. Do not fret, my child." She allowed a quick smile to brush across her usually serious face.

"Very well then, it's best to depart now. I advise you that you should be as quick as possible, before the Vicomte returns. Do what you must do, and say only what needs to be said. If you do not return in time, it's best for your safety if you do not come back at all. In this way, he can't harm you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Christine," Madame Giry began. She looked directly into her eyes. She only ever called her by her name when she was dead serious. "Be careful, please." She nodded, walking over to the wall. With the help of her daughter, Madame Giry pried back the few boards they'd managed to partially remove.

"On you go, go on," she said, her face slightly worried. She placed one foot in, then the other, and in seconds, she was gone.

"I do not know what was going through my mind when I told her that she was better off with the Vicomte," she said, letting go of the boards.

"What do you mean, Maman?"

"I told her she was better off with him. I-I suppose I was just so scared of Erik getting hurt again. I though perhaps, if he never had her at all, the pain wouldn't be so horrid. I was wrong. Our Vicomte is a man of unspeakable actions. Because of what he's done to Christine, Erik's opera has been cancelled, Christine is crumbling away, and I'm unsure of what is to happen for the first time in years." Meg padded over to her, her face full of comfort and warmth.

"Oh my dear Maman. Please, do not fret. I'm sure everything will piece together in the end. It must, for people as lovely as Christine should not suffer such a cruel fate. She doesn't deserve such a thing. Please, smile Maman," she said, her voice slightly cracking. Her mother allowed a small smile to flash across her face.

"Dear look at me, falling to pieces. Forgive me for worrying you, my sweet child," she said, kissing her daughter's forehead. "Come along, we must keep checking the entrance, in case the Vicomte arrives."

XOXOX

Time after time had she been through these dank, dim lit halls, yet this was her most frightening journey ever. She knew not of what Erik would do to her, or himself. She was nervous about what she would see when she arrived, whether he'd be there or not. On top of all this, the thing she feared most was his rejection. Not that she should blame him for doing so, after all she'd done, or hadn't.

All these questions spun around in her head like a hundred bees pestering about. It wasn't until she almost passed the edge of the dock that she snapped out of her stupor. She looked down, lips trembling. All her questions were almost answered by the absence of the small boat that always transported her to and fro Erik's residence. She fell to her knees, heavy droplets streaming down her pallid face. What now? The question floated around in her mind like an autumn leaf on a still lake for what seemed like hours. But she couldn't afford to waste time, not now. Though she'd prefer to never resurface anyway…But no, if she didn't, Raoul would surely go looking for her, and he'd already caused more than enough havoc. Time was wasting, and her mind was racing. Then, it was upon her, so suddenly and so clear.

In seconds, her dress was in a neat heap next to her, and her shoes were tossed aside. Her skin was like gooseflesh before her toes even skimmed the glittering surface of the water. The iciness of it sent shockwaves to her mind, forcing her body to scream in protest. Yet her heart was in another realm. Thoughts raced in her mind still, but one idea remained constant: if she had forced Erik to freeze his outer exterior and turn his heart cold, then she could force herself to endure the same pain.

Taking a deep, steady breath, she took the body-numbing plunge.

A/N: I'll leave you with that little piece, as I'm still working on it, trying to see where I'm going. Sorry so short.


	12. Farewell

Disclaimer: I don't own the Phantom of the Opera, or any of the characters.

Chapter Eleven

Her teeth were chattering, her hands trembling as they clenched the sides of her chemise, and her shoulders were very tense. But luckily (for it was the only thing that could be considered lucky at this point) the water was very shallow. The small sigh of relief she let out quickly transitioned into a violent shudder. Freezing electric tingles shot from her dainty feet to the top of her neck.

As soon as she remembered why she was down there in the first place, she braced her slender shoulders, and took one step, two, three steps forward before she began taking longer strides to make time. She'd wasted so many of the precious thing already the whole time she was Raoul's prisoner. And as she waded through the cold water, she could only hope she hadn't wasted the miracle of her and Erik's love she now carried with her

'_Oh Erik, please hang in there, if only for a moment,'_ she thought. Tears suddenly filled her wide eyes as she thought of her masked lover, all alone and very much mistaken about everything. "How could I let it get this far? I'm such a fool. A big, stupid fool." she cried through clenched teeth. She felt something brush past her ankle, and shivered. But not even death itself could slow her down. She was getting there no matter what.

XOXOX

What he hadn't managed to break by hurling against the walls was neatly packed in two large sacks. His hair, which had been a mess since his return to his lair, was now covered by one of his few black wigs, and his stark white mask had been restored to it's former home on his freshly shaved and scrubbed face. He now wore a clean starched white shirt, black pants, black boots, and a waistcoat. His cloak lay over a chair, waiting to be donned.

He wasn't in too much of a hurry, but he wanted to be out of that hell as soon as possible. He strode about, collecting important papers, sketches, and anything else he found necessary. Every so often, he'd stop in his tracks, and stare at the large gate that opened on his lake. His heart would begin to race, his breath would quicken, all in the hopes of seeing an angel float through. Then, he'd shake his head, and rush to finish what he was doing. How foolish he was. Hoping for a woman who'd betrayed him, and mocked him and his accursed face with false love. Just as soon as his love for Christine had pushed it's way to the front of his heart and mind once again, it was pushed aside by feelings of hurt and anger.

"You're a damn fool, Erik. You should have known it was all a lie. A woman like that could never really want someone as beastly as you," he muttered as he continued to stalk around his home gathering here and there. He didn't really have an actual list of things to take along with him; he was simply coming upon things, and deciding right at that moment if he needed them or not. He had decided that morning what to do. It was a simple fact: if he, who loved Christine more than anything in the world, could not have her, then there was really no reason to stay and see her in the arms of another man. Just the thought of it made an aching lump rise in his throat, and automatically made his fists clench in angst.

After a few more minutes, he stopped what he was doing, and gathered the two sacks containing all his belongings in his arms, and slowly headed to a hidden entrance behind an array of mirrors. Like the one in Christine's room, the mirror that hid the entrance slid open to reveal a short corridor. He tossed the sacks just over the threshold, then stopped. He turned to gaze longingly around the cavern that he'd always called home up until this very moment. Anger swelled up inside his chest; because of one woman, he was giving up his home, possibly his sanity, and his trust towards anyone who tried to show him kindness from this day forward. He immediately shook it off, not wanting the last moments in his home to be wasted. Sighing, he closed his eyes, said a silent farewell, and quickly walked out the exit.


End file.
